


Spike and Wolf

by Rhys (rhyssj)



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: First Time, M/M, Secret Identity, Sexual Confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-02
Updated: 2003-01-02
Packaged: 2019-01-25 23:50:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12544056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhyssj/pseuds/Rhys
Summary: A Universal Studios love story.





	Spike and Wolf

It was the coolest job he’d ever gotten: long hours in the sun in a fucking werewolf costume, but it paid pretty well and he was using his god-given voice to entertain hundreds of people each day. It also kept him the fuck out of college, and Joey knew, if he even tried, he would flunk, so it was all for the best. Sure, he smelled like dead animal by the end of the day, but he had his own groupies. How fucking cool was that? He never slept with them, of course. They were, like, fifteen, but still: groupies.

Problem was that he was new. He’d always prided himself on being the friendliest motherfucker in a two mile radius (decreased only if his parents or Janine were around. Thankfully, Steve had never been a nice guy). But being friendly wasn’t really working too well here. The Revue dudes (and dudette) were firmly locked into a clique, and Joey hadn’t figured out the secret handshake yet. Give him time, though, and he would. Fucking cliques.

“How was work, Joey?”

“Fine, ma.” He smacked her cheek with a kiss then plucked a few rigatoni from the drainer, hissing as the noodles, fresh from boiling water evidently, scalded his fingertips. Plopping them onto his tongue, he kept his mouth open until they’d cooled. “Do I have time to take a shower?”

“I’ll make time, Joey. Shoo,” she said.

He grinned and jumped up the stairs, two at a time. Banging a few times on Steve’s door and relishing in the resulting startled yelps, Joey dropped his clothes on the floor of his room then darted across the hall, nearly knocking his sister off her feet.

“Joey!”

“Hey, Janine,” he said and shut the door quickly. A great number of women had seen his dick, but he wanted to protect Janine from it. It was too fucking creepy otherwise.

Scrubbing down, he sang a loud rendition of Beat It, tapping his fingers on the tile to grab the rhythm. “Don’t want to see no blood, don’t be a macho man, ooo!” He lathered his hair until the suds slipped into his eyes then it was a challenge to keep singing while in terrible pain, but he managed it. “So beat it, but you wanna be bad. Just beat it! Beat it! Beat it, beat it!” He rinsed and raced back across the hall, shaking the water from his body. By the time he got his sweats and tee-shirt and socks on, his mom was yelling, “DINNER!” He’d forgotten underwear, but he wasn’t worried about it.

Joey danced down the stairs then moon-walked the length of the hall, shaking his head. His hair slapped over his face, so he grabbed it and held it. He dripped all over the floor then mopped it up with his socks. Everyone was already at the table by the time he skidded into his chair, so he shut up, sat down and listened to Janine lead them in grace, all the while eyeing the garlic bread, which he planned to grab before Steve right after the amen.

“How was work today?”

“Fine, dad. Same old, same old.” Joey had only been working there for a week.

“You stink,” Steve said, pinching his nose, and Joey punched him hard, right under the arms, but a pointed look from his mom stopped any retaliation. Steve was such a goddamn meathead. Joey hit him one more time–he knew he could get away with it, being the baby and much more loved–and Steve punched him back. Joey didn’t know where he’d been aiming, but he’d almost gotten Joey in the ‘nads.

“Boys, please,” his mom said, and they let it go. There was time enough to beat Steve’s ass later on in the evening. Joey was working the late shift tomorrow, so he got to sleep in. “Janine, pass me the bread, please? Joey, there’s plenty of pasta, so eat up. You and Janine get the leftovers, anyway.”

“What about me?”

Joey’s dad looked up, a bit of tomato on his moustache. “When you get a job, Steve, you can think about bagged lunches.”

Under the table, he and Janine slapped five and shared a grin. Listening to Steve’s protests, Joey shovelled in another mouthful of rigatoni. The pasta wasn’t the best part, though it was homemade and delicious, but the meat sauce, which was simply divine.

~~~

Joey had to run for the bus and barely made it then the bus got trapped in traffic, and by the time they pulled up to Universal Studios, he was almost late. Clutching his bag under his arm, he sprinted across the back lot and straight into costume, stripped down to just his briefs–he’d forgotten his fucking shorts at home, fuck–and ran to warm up.

“Glad to see you made it,” Ronald said. He played Phantom and had a total ego about it, too. Joey seriously didn’t like him, and Ronald liked him even less, mostly (as much as Joey could figure) because Joey was his understudy and did it better. “Hey, Sarah.”

Sarah (the Bride of Frankenstein) smiled at Ronald but said nothing. She was nice and a total lesbian, which Ronald didn’t seem to realise. Joey only knew because he’d seen her girlfriend pick her up after work, when he was waiting for the bus (which was always late). They’d kissed hello, and it was by the far the fucking hottest thing Joey had seen in forever. Lesbians rocked.

Will (Frankenstein) and Bill (Beetlejuice) were warbling in the corner, while Andre (Count Dracula) tried to throw them off their melody. Ronald walked over to join them, and Sarah disappeared into the bathroom. Not minding the calm before the storm of adolescents, Joey stretched, loosening up the knot in his calf from the earlier run. He sang loudly, switching from his chest voice to his head voice and into his falsetto, and felt smug inside when he hit every note perfectly and effortlessly. So yeah, he loved his job, but the people kind of sucked. They, in an unprecedented move, didn’t like him. Joey couldn’t deal, so he didn’t think about it.

~~~

Joey went out for a late dinner with Jennifer, who picked him from work in her jeep. He’d showered before he left, praying he didn’t catch foot fungus or something equally disgusting from the tile, but he still smelled. It was that damn costume. Whoever had it before him must have been a fucking filthy pig with the poorest hygiene in the whole world.

“Long time, no see, stud,” she said when he climbed in. She grabbed all her girly shit from the front seat (her purse and three Sarah McLachlan CDs) and tossed them into the back to make room. “How’s the Revue working out for you?”

“Fine,” Joey said. “How’s the hunt for stardom going?”

“I’m doing a couple commercials.”

“Porn pays better,” Joey said helpfully and grinned when she snorted. Most chicks would have hit him, but Jennifer was beyond the coolest chick he’d ever met. They’d talked about dating, once or twice, but always agreed they were better friends. Still, sometimes Joey got wistful thinking about her, just on principle.

They went to Pizza Hut for dinner and sat in the back, drinking Mountain Dew and filling up on cheesy garlic bread. Joey was already planning on paying for dinner and trying to figure out a scheme on how to do it. Mostly, he was going to steal the bill and run to the front to pay for it before she could stop him. Jennifer didn’t believe in chivalry.

“You look tired, Joey.”

“I sing and dance for six hours a day in a dog costume in the stifling heat. I am tired,” Joey said. He’d meant for it to come out light and carefree, but he sounded bitter enough that Jennifer lifted an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s fine, but it’s exhausting. And smelly.”

“You are pretty rank,” Jennifer said.

“Shut up,” Joey said but smiled. His mouth felt sore.

~~~

The next time the Revue crew made noises about going out after work, Joey invited himself along. He was a cool guy. Cooler, probably, than any of them; they just needed to be alerted to the fact, so when they started talking about LURE (the place to go, Joey later found out, if you worked at Universal), Joey said, “hey, mind if I tag along? I love that place.” The truth was he’d never actually been.

Ronald opened his big fat mouth to say something (probably to shoot him down. Joey recognised the look), but Sarah shrugged. “Sure, kid. Will has plenty of room in his van, isn’t that right, Will?” Will nodded sagely. Sarah was the coolest lesbian in the whole fucking world. Joey bought her a beer the minute they got to LURE, even though he had to give her the money to get it herself.

They stamped his motherfucking hand, and it glowed in the black-light, practically screaming UNDERAGE. Joey ordered a coke from the barkeep and tried to talk to Andre, who hemmed and hawed until Ronald waved him over to a set of twins. Joey turned, ready to chat it up with Will and Bill, but they’d already ditched him. Sarah was long gone. Joey was a loser.

Trying to stay optimistic about the whole fucking deal, Joey threw himself onto the dance floor and started macking on the hottest chick in the joint. She had tits like melons and the kindest eyes ever, even if they were laced with so much eyeliner she looked sort of evil, but she eventually ditched him for some blond guy with huge pectorals. It figured. Defeated, Joey slunk off to get another coke. He was waiting (impatiently, tapping his money on the counter) for the barkeep when someone said,

“You’re in the Revue, right?”

Joey looked over. The guy was short, was the first thing Joey noticed, and he looked even younger than him, though he had a beer in his hand. Stay cool, Joey thought, and straightened his shoulders. “Yeah. You’re in–”

“Hollywood Hi-Tones, outside of Mel’s Diner. I’m Spike, the bad boy.” The guy looked Joey up and down, quick at first but then slower, like he was looking for something. Eventually, his dark eyes lifted, and he smiled. “You’re the new Wolfman, huh?”

Joey nodded.

“Sucks pretty bad, huh?”

“The costume is fucking disgusting,” Joey blurted out.

The man laughed loudly and nodded, and Joey grinned at him helplessly. If he moved, though, Joey was afraid he was going to do something stupid, but the guy stayed where he was, leaning an elbow on the bar. “Is it all right if I call you Wolf?”

“Wolf?”

“Short for Wolfman, dude.” The guy looked at Joey like he was stupid. “And you can call me Spike. It’s cool.”

Joey shrugged. “I guess.” Just his luck, the first person to acknowledge his existence was a weirdo, but Joey couldn’t be picky right then. He was the loser in the situation. The guy was nice just for talking to him. “You come here often?”

“Sometimes. You not drinking?”

Joey lifted up his hand.

The guy squinted for a second. “No shit? Huh. I thought you were older, but what the fuck ever, right? Age is a mental construct, man. I can tell you’re old enough. Come with me,” the guy–Spike–said and cocked his head.

Joey followed him because what the fuck else was he going to do? Stand around the bar, by himself, and look like a loser? No fucking way. Joey Fatone might be a drama geek, but he was a drama geek with hordes of friends, who just weren’t around at that moment. Joey was nothing if not resourceful. This guy–Spike–would have to do.

In the bathroom, Joey scrubbed at his hand while Spike kept watch. Like a good Catholic, Joey was insanely guilty, but once he was back on the dance floor and had a little beer in his belly, he was feeling better about it. So he was eighteen? So fucking what? They didn’t need to ... something ... him, like he was cattle. Joey pinched his lips together. He knew the word he was looking for. It involved hot metal and cruelty to bovines. The word was on the tip of his tongue.

“What’re you thinking about, Einstein?”

Joey looked back. Spike’s dark eyes appeared over his shoulder, and then there he was, flush against Joey’s back, but Joey was a cool guy. He kept on dancing. He still couldn’t remember the word, though. It was bugging the crap outta him.

“What’s the name of that thing they do to cows with, like, hot metal pokers?”

Spike lifted an eyebrow. “Brand?”

“Right.” Joey nodded. “Brand.”

They didn’t need to brand him like cattle, for being a young guy. He thought it over and nodded, but he’d forgotten what exactly he was talking about suddenly. Spike’s hand had dipped under his shirt, flat against the small of his back (though he wasn’t dancing quite as close anymore), but in the casual dark of the club, it didn’t much matter. His hand was hot.

“Can I buy you another beer?”

“Uh huh,” Joey said.

Spike looped a finger in the back of his pants and tugged until Joey turned and followed him. Short. He could see clear over Spike’s head. The fine black hair at the base of Spike’s scalp disappeared into his shirt. Hairy, too. He bit his thumb to avoid touching it. He was pretty drunk. Yep. So drunk that he was letting himself get hit on.

That was it, wasn’t it? He was being hit on by some random guy, and Joey was intrigued enough to let it happen. Then, off course, Spike’s friends showed up, and even though Joey was introduced, he got the sense he wasn’t really welcome. He was in the Revue; they were in the Hi-Tones. It just didn’t mesh, so he said goodbye and walked home. It took him three hours.

~~~

“Ma! Where are my shorts?” He asked it hanging over the railing upstairs. He could see his mom digging through her purse, like she intended to leave the house.

“Check the dryer, Joey! You know, that thing that whirs and dries all your clothes?” Joey gulped when she turned to him. Now he’d done it. “Fold the stuff in there, please! There isn’t much! I’m going out to get milk! You have fifteen minutes!”

Joey grumbled all the way to the dryer (which he knew about, just hadn’t ever used) then grumbled more when a flood of clothes tumbled out. All the hairs on his arms stood up, and he got a vicious shock from the door. “Fucking clothes,” he muttered, and started folding.

He found his shorts and pulled them over his head (so he wouldn’t lose them). With a sock on his hand, he pushed Steve’s skeevy underwear into a pile. Dickwad still wore tighty-whities, fucking piss stains (and other stuff) all over the place, the dirty motherfucker.

Joey vowed, kneeling right there and sorting Janine’s bras (he shuddered hard, but at least she hadn’t done anything freaky to them, like cut out holes for her nipples), that he’d never, ever do laundry again. He’d hire a maid, before he had to. Laundry sucked his dick.

Finally, he was done. Frantic, he shoved his shorts into his bag and jumped into his shoes. His mom rolled up as he ran out of the door, and he begged for a ride to work, bringing up everything from the laundry to the fact he’d changed the toilet paper roll (of his own volition, without needing to be reminded even once) that very morning. They sped to Universal Studios, and he jumped out, pausing once to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Have fun!” She shouted, waving.

“I’ll try, ma!” He shouted back.

She’d been driving like a bat out of hell, but he was still cutting it close. Sprinting again, he made it just in time and wheezed as he changed into his shorts. They were warm (still) and stiffly clean. When he finally skidded out of costume, stinking like a cesspit of Steve’s underwear, only Sarah said hi to him. Joey didn’t take it personally. Much.

~~~

“Hey,” Sarah said, right before the last show of his shift, “you want to go out tonight?”

In a perfect world, Joey would have thought she was asking him out, like, date-wise, but being a lesbian and all, he didn’t think so. He said sure anyway. For a second, he mourned her sexuality, but then, he realised she hadn’t asked anyone else and felt better, especially when Ronald asked about plans and got shot down.

After work, he showered in the scuzzy showers and waited for Sarah (who took just as long as every girl he’d ever met getting ready), sitting on the curb, playing with his laces. Some girl had shown him her tits during the show; she even looked legal. It’d been a good day all around, so far. Joey was ready to dance, and drink, and maybe get laid. If he was lucky.

“You okay with walking?” Sarah asked. She’d tousled her hair, so it stuck up in all directions, and she was dressed in cargo pants, a wifebeater and a striped tie. Such a lesbian. He would have probably given his right arm to see her make out with her girlfriend again.

“Sure,” he said.

They walked a few blocks, and Joey worried about his shirt. It was an old one, too tight, with Atari written across his chess (the superior game system, old school or not). But whatever. At least it was clean. Steve, the grubby bastard, was known to wear the same shirt out every night, without washing it. That was fucking gross.

They arrived at some club Joey didn’t know. It didn’t even have a big sign. It was just a door, and they let him in without carding him. Score. He didn’t have much money, but he had enough. And the music kicked ass. He started bobbing his head. 80s, and dance, and pop. Fucking awesome. Joey went to get himself a drink.

Maybe Joey hadn’t gone to college, but he wasn’t an idiot. It only took him five minutes to realise there was some serious gender segregation going on. As in, they were all gay. Everyone. Gay. Joey downed his drink and asked for another. Gay club. Inwardly, Joey groaned. It figured.

“Hey, Wolf,” Spike said. His temples shone with sweat. “Nice shirt.”

“Oh, hi,” Joey said, lamely. “Thanks,” he added. Ten minutes in, and already his second drink was almost gone. He waved the guy down for a third, throwing a five dollar bill at him. Joey scrambled for something to say. “It’s a cool system, you know.”

“I got one,” Spike said. “Maybe later, you can check it out.”

Dumbly, Joey nodded. Beat It started playing, and already his hips were moving. Without asking, Spike dragged him to the dance floor, and they danced a bit, like gay guys would, touching and shit. Joey tried not to think about the fact he was pretty sure he agreed to have sex with this guy, later. Sex. With a guy. Joey needed another drink.

Spike and Sarah knew each other, it turned out. Had dated briefly in college, which Joey didn’t understand, but okay. Her girl, Catherine, showed up (with three ex-girlfriends in tow. Lesbians. Joey shook his head). Joey chatted with them a little, but mostly, he danced. Mostly, it was with Spike, who was pretty good at it. Mostly, Joey didn’t think about later.

~~~

Later, Spike leaned up to him and said, “they’re gonna shut it down soon. I have more at my place,” leaving the invitation open. Joey, being so damn drunk, thought it was a great fantastic utterly fabulous idea, and they left together. They stopped once, so Joey could phone home and tell his parents he was staying out, maybe all evening (all the while trying to sound really, really sober). But eventually, they got there.

“It’s not much,” Spike said. It wasn’t at all, but it was cool anyway. There was a bed in the living room, and movie posters up on the wall, and a kitchen and a bathroom, and he lived alone, which was the shit. Joey was beginning to fear he was going to be like Janine and Steve and live at home until he was dead. “Vodka, all right?”

“Maybe just water,” Joey said.

“Sure.”

Joey listened to the tap then held his breath when it shut off. Spike came out with a glass, and Joey drank it like he’d never had water before. Spike watched him then got up and started rooting around in one of his drawers. Nervously, Joey’s ass clenched. Surely there was more foreplay than that, and besides, Joey didn’t think he could ... do that, like that, first time out.

“I got Pac Man, Mrs. Pac Man, Space Invaders and Asteroids, man. Take your pick. I had cooler ones, but my fucking friends steal them when I’m wasted,” Spike said. He held out four cartridges. Blind with relief, Joey picked the closest one.

They played Mrs. Pac Man for a good hour, and Joey sobered up a little, though it’d take more than a glass of water and mortal terror to completely clear out his head. Spike was a funny guy and a killer on the Atari. And nice eyes. The guy had really nice eyes.

“Hey,” Spike said, flicking off the machine. The room was suddenly really quiet.

“Hm?”

They’d been sitting on the couch, which Joey would appreciate later. Spike leaned over and kissed him, like, on the mouth, with tongue. It was so gay, and so good. Joey kissed him back, nervous about his hands. Usually, he attached himself to a boob and went at it.

It’d been a while since he made out, at least since Prom with Kelly. That was the last time he’d fucked, too. Kelly was up with her aunt for the summer in one of those New England states, New Hampshire or Maine or that other one. It was nice to have someone to kiss. Joey had liked kissing ever since he was thirteen, and Mary Johnson took him to heaven in seven minutes.

“Your shirt,” Spike said and tugged on the hem. Joey lifted his arms and took it off. Spike took his off, too. Really skinny, and really hairy for a little guy who looked like he was sixteen. Joey didn’t even want to know how old he really was. Knowing his luck, he’d be, like, forty. Which was kinda skeevy, so Joey stopped thinking about it.

They kissed again. Joey branched out a little, moving to his jaw and his neck and his throat, but he didn’t stay away for long. The dude had a really nice tongue. And he touched Spike, too, but just on the knee then, sluttishly, on the thigh. His hand was pretty lost, otherwise.

Spike’s hand was not. Joey didn’t flinch when it settled between his legs, but he wanted to. A guy was touching dick, albeit through jeans. But a guy. Mentally, Joey congratulated himself for this momentous occasion in his life. Then he lifted his hips, and spread his knees, and moaned a little. It felt really fucking good.

Joey knew, based on the Rule of Reciprocation, he should do it back. And he did inch up Spike’s thigh, but then Spike started with the zipper on his jeans and pulled it down. Cock out and suddenly Joey couldn’t think of anything but Spike’s hand. And, the gay thing, which went without saying. But mostly his hand.

Joey kissed him through it. The handjob. Spike’s fist was tight, and he found an erratic rhythm that worked. Clenching, and sliding, and pulling, and squeezing; the guy was good. Joey came fast then was a little embarrassed about it. He’d bitten Spike on the lip without meaning to.

“Stay over,” Spike said.

And Joey did.

~~~

Spike drove him home the next morning, when Joey said he needed to go. Church. His mom would kill him if he missed mass. Joey politely thanked him for everything, especially the sex but also the Atari playing and the glasses of water (Spike had given him another one when he woke up). On the way up to the house, Joey berated himself for being a tool.

He took a quick shower and put on his clean pants and grabbed a muffin as he ran to the car where everybody was waiting. Janine had been shoved into the middle (Joey’s rightful spot, as the youngest). His parents clucked at him disapprovingly. Mostly, he hoped, for holding them up. Steve punched him in the knee, so Joey punched him back. Janine elbowed them both.

In mass, all he could think about was gay sex. Gay sex that he’d had. The footsteps from the couch to the bed, then his jeans and how they fell to the ground. Then, well, another guy’s cock, which he’d sucked. Joey worried he was going to spontaneously combust with the wrath of god when the Eucharist touched his tongue. Needless to say, he didn’t.

~~~

Joey had pretty much thought that was the end of it, like his long dead collection of Spider Man comics (Superman was god) and his interest in Canadian culture (if such a thing existed, and Joey still couldn’t argue one way or the other, but he’d watched a lot of SCTV and Kids in the Hall). Until, Sarah invited him out, again, and he ended up at Spike’s place, again.

They played Pac Man this time, since they’d both felt pretty emasculated by Mrs. Pac Man (though all the props to her for demanding equal treatment in the Atari world). And at some point, Joey pretended he dropped something on the ground (his wallet, or his keys, or his pride) and ended up giving Spike head, right there, on his couch.

There was something about blowing a guy that Joey hadn’t understood until he did it. He’d loved getting blowjobs, but giving them, that intrinsic need was surprising. The taste was something he actually liked (had, since he’d accidentally shot his load and hit his own mouth, back when he’d just started wacking off and tended to explode like a geyser). He also liked having his hair pulled while doing it, which freaked him the fuck out, but whatever.

Also sexy was that Spike, the perverted fuck, liked watching him jack off. The third time they got together, Joey had done that for him. Even hit his own mouth and ended up licking his hand clean before the jizz got cold (because then, and only then, was it utterly horrible). Spike had beat off for him, and though it was pretty damn hot, Joey had found himself pushing Spike to the couch and rubbing against him until they both came. Frottage, Spike called it. Joey called it hot as all fucking hell.

So, it wasn’t the end of it, and Joey was cool with that. He just didn’t think about it much. Or tried not to, anyway. Because, well, because he just didn’t want to. So he didn’t.

~~~

“Fag,” Ronald coughed under his breath when Joey walked by. Will and Bill chuckled lowly, and Andre gave him a wolfish leer. How they knew, Joey didn’t know, but he just shrugged it off. He knew he wasn’t gay. He had slept with girls. More girls than probably any of them would sleep with in their lives. And what business was it of theirs, anyway? Idiotic fuckheads.

Joey sang and danced and felt oddly unsatisfied by it all. Plus, the costume still stunk like fourteen million of Steve’s shoes. Sarah had sided with him, but she had all these lesbian friends on the same break, and he always felt apologetically male whenever he spent time with them.

He took the bus home after work (late again, and he had to sit beside a man with a bad B.O. problem, or maybe it was just him) and got dressed to go over to Spike’s place. They were going to hang out, probably have sex, and go see a late movie. With one shoe on, and almost out the door, his mom stopped him.

“Joey. Is there something you want to tell your mother?”

“Ma,” he said and held out his arms, helplessly, as if he couldn’t help the fact he was so cool that he was never at home anymore. It would have been a curse if it’d been anything like the truth. Unfortunately, he was no longer in high school, and he was only cool enough to get laid by a pretty hot guy on a regular basis. Which he was not going to tell her, ever.

“Here.” She thrust a tupperware container of pasta and sauce at him. He barely caught it; it was heavier than it looked. She hooked a bag (containing bread, a bottle of soda and a frozen pie) over his hand then shoved him out the door. “You make sure you eat. You’re looking thin.”

“I eat!”

“There’s enough there for two,” she replied merrily, waving as he stumbled down the driveway. One of his shoes was barely covering his heel. His knapsack slipped off his shoulder, and he grabbed at it. “Now hurry along. I’m not driving you anywhere, Joey.”

“Love you too, ma!” Joey shouted. “And shit, the bus!” He started to sprint.

“No swearing,” she yelled after him. A flock of birds jumped from the trees.

~~~

“Your mom?”

Spike hadn’t let him in, when he saw all the shit Joey was carrying. Joey tried to explain his mom wanted to fatten him up and thankfully, due to the strenuous nature of his job, he metabolised more than he gained. And since he didn’t eat at home and was pretty cheap on life essentials like food (though would happily pay six hundred bucks for a Superman comic), she didn’t think he was eating at all. “So, yeah, my mom. Come on. Let me in, man.”

“You didn’t make this yourself?”

Joey snorted. “Yeah, right. I live at home, man. I folded laundry for the first time in my life, like, three weeks ago. Believe me, I had no hand in this. You wouldn’t want it, if I did.” Joey nudged at the door again and tried to make it painfully clear this was an act of acceptance, not romance. “I had a shitty day at work, man. Come on.”

“You always have a shitty day at work,” Spike said, but he opened the door.

“So do you,” Joey replied, and Spike kissed him, hard and fast, like a hammered peck.

~~~

After a month or two, Joey had to admit he and Spike were doing something more than just fucking for fun. Sometimes, Joey even got the urge to steal Spike’s wallet and find out his real name (or simply ask someone), but it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t even sure Spike knew his name, either. It added a bit of mystique to the whole confused thing.

One night, he asked his dad if he could use the long distance and called up Richie, to shoot the shit and also, maybe, get a bit serious, if he had the balls to do it. Richie and him and Carmine had grown up on the same street. Richie had come out to him when they were ten, so Joey figured he knew something about something, and could help, maybe.

They talked about all sorts of stuff. Richie was headed off to Columbia in the fall; Carmine had gotten a job apprenticing with an electrician; Carmine’s sister had gotten knocked up by her boyfriend of five years; Jenny Fazio had also gotten knocked up, and so had her younger sister, Lucia, by the same sleaze-ball guy.

“Whoa,” Joey said, “whoa.”

“Things good with you?” Richie asked.

Joey could hear Carmine in the background, yelling a greeting. He shouted back excitedly. It was cool they still hung out on Friday nights together. Richie was the shyest gay guy Joey knew, so he didn’t get out much (and Joey had nobody to compare him to, except Spike, who had to drive and shout at the same time, and also got into fights with people at the movies because he talked loudly through them, and also his friend JC, who was a little louder than Richie, though admittedly not by much). Thankfully, Carmine didn’t get out a lot either, since he wasn’t good with the ladies, so it all worked out.

“Oh, things are great,” Joey said. “I’m fucking another guy.”

It was a less smooth transition than he would have liked, but it kind of came out before he could lie about his job or the hordes of gorgeous women he’d banged or how much he’d buffed up since they came down to visit last summer. Joey supposed he could have been more subtle.

On the other end, Richie was yelping, “what? what?” and choking a little, too.

Joey explained the whole thing, except the fact he really liked the taste of come. Richie was a good friend, but there were limits on the need-to-know level. He gave a lot of sordid details, like Joey’s sudden head fetish and the fact Spike was uncut.

“Can I tell Carmine?” Richie asked. In the background, Carmine was yelling to be told.

“Sure,” Joey said, “but just him. I’m not as cool with it as I’m acting.”

Richie gave Carmine the rundown then Carmine got on the phone and made Joey repeat everything, just so he could hear it from the horse’s mouth (his words, not Joey’s. Joey was remembering why Carmine never got dates). By the end, he was thoroughly humiliated and was regretting he’d ever told either of them. It made it kinda, like, real.

“You all right?” Richie asked, when Carmine left to get something to drink for his parched throat.

“Dunno,” Joey said. “I guess.”

“Okay,” Richie said, “phone me again, if you want to talk about anything,” and then Joey abruptly changed the topic, and they talked about Carmine behind his back instead.

~~~

Spike had given him a key to his place, so Joey was allowed to show up whenever he wanted. He’d asked, implicitly, if he had to worry about anyone else being there, and Spike had looked at him long and hard before saying, “uh, no.” They’d talked a bit, after that, about where they stood. No fucking around, but nothing marriage-like serious either. Just run-of-the-mill gay boyfriends.

“Is that okay?” Spike asked. “I mean, if you don’t.”

“No, it’s fine. I have a girlfriend, kinda, but I’m pretty sure that’s over,” Joey said. He felt he needed to mention Kelly’s existence, even though they’d agreed to see other people as well as each other. She hadn’t phoned since she had left, though. Neither had he. “It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s cool. Can I buy you dinner?”

A few days later, he’d had a small panic attack on the bus ride home from work, but other than that, he was fine. Well, except for the family dinner that same night, where everyone asked about the Big Joey Secret and didn’t let up at all, even when he told them he didn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s fucking nothing! Leave me alone!” He’d finally shouted, mostly at Steve, but it’d erupted into a huge screaming match between him and everyone (including Janine, who had no fucking right). His parents had grounded him for a whole fucking week. Spike had been surprisingly understanding. Joey had phone sex with him, anyway, to apologise.

~~~

Joey unlocked the door and walked right in. The shower was running, so he took off his own clothes, stroked his dick a few times, and got in with Spike. He jumped about a mile, which was fun, then pinched Joey really fucking hard on his left nipple, which was not fun. They kissed a little, and Joey washed Spike’s hair, twirling his fingers in his thick hair and licking his mouth.

They moved to the bed, and Joey lay down beside him and looked. Still too skinny, but Joey thought maybe he knew why. Spike’s mom had called a few days ago, while Joey had been napping on the couch, and Spike had promised money (which they fought over). Spike wasn’t a guy of great wealth. Joey had figured that out when he saw his car.

They made out for a long, torturous time. Joey had really taken to the frottage thing, and a slightly damp body was a fucking awesome thing to rub against. Even with all the hair, the sensuous slide of flesh drew the sweat to his skin. He liked it slow, counterbalanced with wet french kisses, and he also liked having a mouth suctioned over his nipple, laved with a tongue.

“Hey, Wolf,” Spike said, and Joey paused. He kept a hand on Spike’s back as he leaned over and grabbed a bag from Walgreen’s. Spike handed it over, and Joey thought he was going to puke from the sudden panic that had him by the balls. He got a condom, then couldn’t open it (too fucking nervous). Spike rolled it down then slicked him up with lube, and did himself too. Joey came from that, watching him, then had to the ditch the condom. He stroked himself a few times, as if his dick was a complete moron. It knew. It didn’t wilt at all.

And so, they fucked.

~~~

“I’m the first guy you’ve been with, right? Like, ever.”

Joey hadn’t said much since they woke. He’d stepped on the condom they’d used when he got out of bed to pee, and suddenly, it seemed like a huge fucking deal. He’d slept with another guy, in a very gay way. More gay than, like, blowjobs, or handjobs, or even frottage, which was stupid. Joey knew it was all gay sex when done with two guys, but still.

“If it’s an consolation, I didn’t figure that out until last night.”

“It is,” Joey said. It was. He liked being good in bed. It made him happy, even while it made him really, really depressed. He didn’t know why, except maybe he hadn’t been ready when they got together. Which sucked, too. Spike was such a cool guy and deserved better.

“Hey,” Spike said and tugged on his elbow. Joey lay back and put a hand on Spike’s hip when Spike rolled over. His stubbly chin scraped against Joey’s chest like a cheese grater, except totally not. Joey bit his lip. “Listen, man. I’ve been there, okay? So if you need to talk or anything, man, just say and we will. I’ll probably fuck you up more, but good intentions, okay?”

“I’m fine,” Joey assured him, combing his fingers through Spike’s hair.

Spike kissed his belly and, thankfully, didn’t say anything else.

~~~

Jennifer called him up to see if wanted to do another dinner date. Supposedly, she’d been after him for weeks, but he’d never been home. They made plans after work, on a Tuesday. Joey preformed half-assedly all day, even when he’d caught some chick practically fingering herself in the front row. Fucking groupies. There were too damn much. He’d watched for a little bit, but he felt slightly nauseated. They were sickos, him and her both.

Ronald coughed, “fag,” as he walked by after the show and smirked. Joey rolled his eyes but didn’t say a thing. He’d given up trying to be Ronald’s friend. Or any of them, really. If there were two things Joey Fatone had they were a thick skin and infinite patience for morons. Joey was, after all, Steve Fatone’s younger brother.

“Hey, boy,” Jennifer said and kissed his cheek.

“Hey, girl,” he replied and slumped into the seat. He’d sat on something, so he reached to get it, and he was seriously grossed out. A fucking pad. He saw enough of those in his own bathroom, and those tampon things, which Joey had once built a raft out of for his G.I. Joes.

“Oh, give it to me, you big wiener,” she said and snatched it out of his hand, chucking it into the backseat. At least it wasn’t a used condom, which was always a risk in Steve’s car. Joey was pretty sure Steve only used them to jerk off. Joey really wanted to think no woman was stupid enough to sleep with him. “Your mom says you’re having some sort of secret love affair.”

Joey should have lied. Should have, but didn’t. “I don’t know. I guess.”

“Tell me over dinner,” Jennifer said, “and I’m buying this time.”

They got their usual booth at Pizza Hut, tucked right in the back. They ordered cokes and cheesy garlic bread, first off, then a large Meat Lover’s pizza. Jennifer could eat him under the table (in the clean, competitive way, of course) when she wasn’t watching her figure.

“So, spill, Fatone.” She poked him in the stomach.

Joey sighed. “It’s nothing. I’m thinking of stopping it.”

“Why?”

“Too much hassle,” Joey said. “From everyone. I don’t know. I think I got into it without really thinking it over, you know, and now. Well. I don’t know.” He moved the salt and pepper shakers around then started tearing up his napkin. “It’s fun, but I don’t know.”

“What’s her name?”

“Him,” Joey said, quietly.

“Shit,” Jennifer said and sat back so hard she smacked her head on the back of the bench.

It must have hurt, but Joey didn’t even dare to breathe, let alone offer her sympathy for a concussion. Jennifer was so openminded that he wasn’t worried about her disowning him. He was just afraid of how gung ho she’d suddenly be about his sex life. Not that she’d ever discouraged him from having sex, just hadn’t care much to know. But now, Joey was scared.

She made him tell her everything, even about the anal sex. Joey hadn’t yet been on the receiving end, but he’d boned Spike, like, maybe three times at that point. It’d been good. He’d liked it, even though it was kinda messy. It was good, though. Really, even if he still preferred giving head. And he sure as hell didn’t tell her about his come guzzling tendencies.

“This guy sounds great,” Jennifer said. “What’s the problem?”

“Jennifer,” Joey said. He rolled his eyes, too.

“Oh my GOD. You are such a moron! You’re worse than Steve! So, what, it’s okay for Richie and JC to be gay, but when it’s you, suddenly it’s this huge issue? Jesus. You’re not even gay, right? You like pussy way too much, Joey,” Jennifer said, waving an accusing finger at him.

“That was so hot,” Joey said. “Say pussy again.”

“Fuck you,” she said, but laughed long and hard. And though Joey could tell by the evil look in her eyes (or caring look, whatever, Joey didn’t want to hear any of it) she hadn’t forgotten, she let it go. Joey did, too. Except he was still gonna have to break up with Spike.

~~~

Spike broke up with him.

“Sorry. There’s this thing, and I. I gotta go for it, man, and I have to be single. I mean, I have my mom and my sisters to think about. It’s not you. You’re, like, the best thing. I want you to know that, but I. The timing just didn’t work, Wolf,” he said, looking at his feet.

Joey sure as hell hoped his face had been tattooed on each and every one of his toes.

“So, right. I’m not excusing my actions, but it was just for fun, anyway, right? I mean, it was good, but there’s no epic love affair going on. We’re just two guys who fucked for a few months. Good fucking, I promise you, and I’m sure any future girlfriend or boyfriend is going to, you know, treat you a lot better than this. I’m so, so sorry.”

Joey seriously wanted to punch him. He sounded so goddamn sincere.

“I mean it, man. Another place, another time, we might have stood a chance.”

Guilt rushed over him, and Joey could only nod dumbly. Never mind the fact he came over not only to get laid but to dump Spike’s ass. He’d never actually done it, and now Spike was doing it instead. This was it. This was the end. And though Joey suddenly didn’t want to let him go, he wasn’t going to fight it either. They kissed amicably, and hugged tightly, then fucked one last time, dirty and hard, on the bed in the living room of Spike’s small apartment.

~~~

Ronald got fired from the Revue. The official reason was that he was stealing costume supplies, but the unofficial reason, Joey liked to think, was that he was an abominable ass. So work got better, if not the best, because the guy who replaced Ronald bypassed the sucky Wolfman position and went straight to Phantom. Horribly unfair, but Jason was nice, and had a black belt in karate, and was a very moral guy. The first time Andre called Joey a fag (to carry the torch left by dear departed Ronald) was also the last time.

They went out to drink after the shift, to celebrate Ronald’s passing into a better life (ie, not with them). They went to Pleasure Island, since LURE had been shut down for serving minors (oops). It turned out Will and Bill hated Ronald, too, but were too chickenshit to admit it. They bought Joey two shots as an apology. Joey gladly accepted and drank behind his hand.

“Joey!”

Joey turned around, pleasantly buzzed already, and got an armload of skin and bones. “JC! Dude. You’re back!” Joey heaved him off the ground and spun him around until he was giggling like a maniac then held him so he didn’t fall over. “How was LA, man? Fun?”

“Dude. Let’s never talk about it again, okay?” He smiled brightly, but he seemed sorta ... off kilter, so Joey just nodded sagely. JC had always been a crazy artist type person, prone to weird bouts of sudden depression and insight into the strangest things. Joey was used to it. “But man, get this. I’m in a fucking pop group. Isn’t that insane?”

“Shut up,” Joey said, “seriously?”

“Remember Justin Timberlake? Him, and me, and this guy named Chris. So far there’s just the three of us, but we need two more. Hey,” JC said, “what are you doing these days? Because, you know, if you’re interested, I think you’d be great. We need a baritone.”

“Shut. Up,” Joey said. He thought he was going to piss his pants. “You mean it?”

“Dude, totally. Like, man, wouldn’t it be awesome? Me, you, and Justin, and Chris, too, who’s a little surly, between you and me, but Justin likes him, and so do I. And wow, guy, you are looking fantastic. Rock hard.” JC curled his fingers into a fist and knocked on Joey’s abs.

Joey explained about the Revue, and why he smelled so bad (JC had been too polite to mention the stench, though he agreed that Joey reeked), and caught him up with his dumbass family. Ultimately, Joey confessed how unsatisfied he was with his life and how he would sell his left kidney (and probably his right, if he didn’t need both) to be in a world famous pop group.

“Great! Come on.”

They danced through the crowd, JC’s hand hot in his. On the other side, Joey saw Justin sipping a coke. Joey waved at him, and he waved back. The kid had grown an extra foot taller, at least. Some guy elbowed Joey in the back, and he stumbled a bit, though JC kept tugging. Joey was about to fucking puke. He seriously needed to make a good impression.

“Hey, Chris, this is Joey. He’d be so good for the group, man, you have no idea.”

And JC kept talking, looping an arm around Justin’s neck and getting the kid in on his excitement, but Joey didn’t hear a damn thing. He just stared at Chris. He’d offered his hand without thinking (it was the polite thing to do), and now he couldn’t take it back. Chris. Joey had always thought Spike would have a typically boring name. He’d been so atypical that he needed something to ground him. Something like Chris.

Spike and Wolf. Chris and Joey. Joey couldn’t let go of his hand.

“You know each other,” JC said, glancing between them, “shit. Sorry, Joey.”

“It’s okay. Too good to be true, anyway.”

At that, Joey finally let go of Spike’s hand. Not Spike, Chris. Chris’s hand. Any which way, he dropped it. Joey swallowed the lump in his throat and looked for the nearest bathroom, since he was going to bawl his fucking eyes out. The last time he’d done that Steve had run over his cat, Oscar, while learning to drive. Joey had really loved that cat.

“Hey, let me talk to him, okay?” Chris said. JC and Justin nodded.

They walked to the bathroom, and Chris held his hand. Not openly, like JC had, but just hooked a finger around his thumb and let Joey lead the way. They got a stall, and stood together, and Joey really, truly, honestly wished they’d never ever met. He really want to be more than a smelly Wolfman in a shitty ass Universal Studios show. He wanted to really sing, and love it.

“Joey, huh?”

“Yeah. Chris,” Joey said. He tried to smile. He was going to cry. “Nice name.”

“You, too. Listen, I. I never heard you sing, you know, in all that time, I never.”

“Hard to sing with your dick in my mouth,” Joey said. He choked on the joke (literally), but Chris laughed anyway. He’d always had the nicest eyes. Joey looked right at them.

Chris touched a hand to Joey’s wrist and circled it. It wasn’t sexual, it was just. It was weird, like he was trying to keep Joey from bolting. Maybe Joey was thinking about it, but Joey really couldn’t focus on anything but the fact he really didn’t want to cry in front of Chris.

“Do you want this, Joey?” Chris’s fingers tightened. Joey wondered if Chris could feel the erratic, desperate beat of his pulse. Joey could sure hear it, screaming through his ears. “When you think about it, can you think of nothing else but to have this?”

“I want it so bad I can taste it,” Joey said. “I’d do anything to get it.”

“So, sing now. Anything.” Chris squeezed his wrist. “Something you love.”

“I only really know show tunes.” Joey blinked. “And wow, how gay is that?”

Chris smiled. “So sing,” he said.

And Joey did.


End file.
